


Sweet Treats

by donnatroy



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Baking, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnatroy/pseuds/donnatroy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a hard man but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy something sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Treats

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Frank fic and I hope that he's in character.

Frank smelled something sweet in the air when he walked into the cruddy apartment and knows that you are up to something. The apartment never smells like this, like an actual home but more like an in between place.

He grunts when he moves his weapons off from his shoulder. The shirt he is wearing shifts uncomfortably against a cut on his back. Frank can’t remember being cut there but he just brushes it off, you’ll help patch him up.

“Sweetheart?” he calls out. He was unsure the first time he called you the term of endearment, he wasn’t sure if it was crossing a line for you. You had smiled shyly at him and kissed his cheek softly. Now, it was just second nature for him.

“Hey, Frank. How’d it go?” you ask. The timer on the microwave went off with a shrill beep that made you flinch.

“Not good,” he pauses to sit down on the lumpy couch in the middle of the living room. “What’re you doin’ in there?”

You glance over to him as you pull on an oven mitt, “Nothing much. You need stitches?”

“Yeah.”

He watches you carefully. Whatever it is that you’re pulling out of the kitchen has something to do with the smell floating around. He smiles at you, seeing you tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear and smelling whatever you had just pulled out.

“You strip and I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He listens to you push the items in your drawer around, looking for the first aid kit. Frank is slow to peel off the black shirt. It hurts his shoulders and his torso screams in pain as he raises his arms above his head. That jackass must’ve gotten him good.

The first aid kit is compiled of everything you could get your hands on at the drug store. It’s been hard to explain why you need all those bandages to the salesperson. You hate this part. It’s a reminder that if Frank isn’t careful enough, he could end up in the morgue, and that scares you more than any criminal on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

You have him sit up straight to make it easier for you to find each wound. It’s not bad tonight, mostly bruises but you find a nasty cut right below his shoulder blade. Your snapping the gloves on and sigh.

“You gotta be more careful,” you dig in the box for the saline water and a pad. He only grunts in response. You’re cautious when you start to clean the cut, you don’t want him in anymore pain but he has his fists and jaw clenched. He’s trying not to show the fact that it stings but you can see right through it.

“How’s your day?”

“I was alright, nothing to exciting. Linda is driving me crazy with her terrible organization skills. I made cookies.”

“Did you now?” he almost laughs at the fact that he couldn’t identify the smell as a baked good. “What kind?”

“Chocolate chip.”

You place the saline back in the kit and the pad on the armrest. This is where you have room for improvement, stitches. You can thread the needle and sew holes in your clothes just fine but at the prospect of doing that to Frank, your hands begin to shake but it’s gotten easier.

You keep your breathing even as you begin.

He’s gotten used to it to the point where the needle piercing his skin doesn’t even bring pain, just a slight discomfort. His mind goes to the idea of dinner. He could use something to eat that isn’t take out.

“Done!” you said. You were happy with the stitches and didn’t mess up once. A new record. “Do you want a cookie?”

He gives you a vague shrug which you take as a yes. You kiss him softly on the shoulder. His lips twitch at the contact, almost forming a smile.

* * *

 

 

He’s noticed that you’ve been baking more often, almost twice every day. You called him your official taste tester but he sensed that there was something else behind it and he couldn’t place what it was. But he indulged you, he ate everything you made.

It tired you out and even the idea of breakfast couldn’t wake you up, so he left you in the bed cuddling against a pillow with messy hair. It had taken forever to get free from your grip on him and

He was standing over a pan of brownies which were almost gone and he was starting to regret eating that many; he couldn’t remember how many he ate but it was a lot.

Chocolate from the brownies stained his fingers and looked so tempting. He would have to go to the gym later but he deserved this treat.

It was a casual movement as he began licking his fingers clean and reading one of the baking magazines you had bought and was currently covered with sticky notes. They had notes on his reaction of trying the recipes. He smirked as he understood what you were doing.

His free hand went to feel the indents your writing made on the page and read your tiny notes. It was endearing that you had watched every little twitch and movement just to find out what he had liked. Frank continued to thumb through the sticky pages from different mixtures for each recipe.

“G’morning,” you said with tiredness still laced in your voice.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mmm, whatcha up to?”

He feels you sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his thick waist. You think to yourself about how built he is, like a brick house that could crush you under his weight and you wouldn’t really mind that.

“Found your notes.”

Your cheeks heat up from embarrassment of being caught doing something so silly. To hide from his gaze, you buried your face on his back, “Just wanted to see what you liked.”

He can’t help the smile that graces his lips. It’s such a sweet thought that somebody would do this for him; he honest to god can’t remember the last time anybody has gone through this much trouble to do something so, well, he can’t find the word for it. Caring? Domestic? He doesn’t know but he still finds that it makes him feel so light and loved.

“I liked the brownies and the sugar cookies the most,” he says in a quiet voice.

“I can see that. You damn near ate the entire pan. I didn’t even get to try them.”

Frank chuckles and moves himself to face you. His fingers raise your chin up so he can look you in the eyes and it’s like home.

It’s comfortable to just look at the man who has been beaten and broken. He’s your home and you are his. His knuckles graze softly across your cheek, making your eyes flicker shut.

Frank can’t understand how the hands that have carried weapons of all kinds and killed multiple people, hands of death and ruin, can still be used to give you this kind of soft affection, make you feel comfort and safety. He doesn’t want to think about it because your eyes open again and you are smiling at him, it fills him with hope when he sees it.

“Give me your hand,” you say. It isn’t a command but a suggestion. You examine his large hands in your own and smile. “You’ve got chocolate all over your fingers.”

He can only nod as his voice is stuck in a lump in his throat. Frank can see your tired eyes alight with a gleam that he had gotten used to. Oh yes, he had seen it more than once and how he enjoyed it. He couldn’t say that he didn’t like where this was going.

This wasn’t really your intention, you were too tired to even think about that but here you were, lifting up Franks hand and slowly licking away the chocolate that coated his fingers. He was right though; the brownies were the best. The chocolate was a testament to that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading


End file.
